Tag: written on the body

The Trefoil Knot: An Important Analogy in Written on the Body

So far, I’ve been really astounded by the analogies that the narrator in Written on the Body makes about love. Each comparison seems to be a way to justify their current situation through a different lens. In this post I will be focusing on the paragraph on page 87 where the narrator talks about knots, and the larger implications that this analogy has on how the narrator views their relationship with Louise.

When the narrator claims that “the interesting thing about a knot is its formal complexity. Even the simplest pedigree knot, the trefoil, with its three roughly symmetrical lobes, has mathematical as well as artistic beauty” (87), I don’t think they are purely talking about the knot itself. Here, the narrator states three important things: 1) knots are complex, 2) a specific knot (the trefoil, pictured at the top of the post) has three lobes, and 3) the trefoil is beautiful. With the knowledge that they later bring this talk of knots back around to their relationship with Louise (see page 88), I don’t think it’s as much of a stretch to consider that this paragraph about knots relates back to the narrator’s love life. At this moment in time, the narrator considers their relationship with Louise to be much like the trefoil knot – complex and 3-sided (because Elgin is still in the picture at this point), but ultimately beautiful.

It is interesting that they continue by saying, “the challenge of the knot lies in the rules of its surprises. Knots can change but they must be well-behaved. An informal knot is a messy knot” (87 – 88). For the challenge of the knot, the narrator seems to think that the same occurs for relationships; it’s the surprises and how they are dealt with that “make or break” them (i.e. Louise telling Elgin that she’s been having an affair with the narrator and how they deal with that situation). Then there’s the word choice of “well-behaved” that really sticks out to me, I think this combined with the informal = messy bit is meant to say that much as a knot must be sturdy and held together tightly, so must a relationship if the people wish to stay together.

Your Body Wants to be Naked but You’re Wearing an Overcoat

The closest thing that Jeanette Winterson’s narrator of Written on the Body achieves to marriage prior to their relationship with Louise is their relationship with Jaqueline. But, that relationship is destroyed by the narrator’s lust and love for Louise, quickly, sharply, hurtfully. It was a settled relationship, content and calm, and not enough for our narrator:

“Jaqueline was an overcoat. She muffled my senses. With her I forgot about feeling and wallowed in contentment. Contentment is a feeling you say? Are you sure it’s not an absence of feeling?… Contentment is a positive side of resignation. It has its appeal but it’s no good wearing an overcoat and furry slippers and heavy gloves when what the body really wants is to be naked” (76).

They “wallowed in contentment” — interesting choice of words to put together (76). They contradict each other in meaning, or rather in the way people usually tend to use and think of these words. Wallowing has connotations of almost trudging or floating around in a state of sadness, boredom, self pity, maybe a combination of all. Contentment, on the other hand, is most often positive: it’s a happy feeling, a feeling that’s arguably something everybody searches for and wants: satisfaction in the state of homeostasis, of balance. But our narrator is not happy in contentment. In fact, for them contentment is an “absence of feeling” and part of the same feeling as “resignation” (76). Balance, quiet, consistency, even, is a resignation for them. Resignation from what? From desire, life, or real love? Just pure lust?

Why would you want to be wearing an overcoat when “what the body really wants is to be naked” (76)? But perhaps contentment becomes a feeling when it is with someone whose body wants to be naked with your naked body, and not smothered in overcoats. When it comes to Louise, all the narrator wants is a life with her; with her, contentment perhaps would be real contentment and not a resignation because Louise is not Jaqueline. But then again, how would we as readers know that the narrator doesn’t have this euphoric state in every relationship prior — they are unreliable, after all. By condemning contentment as a lack of feeling, the narrator contradicts themselves as they desperately seek out Louise as a partner, and when or if they receive that partnership and love, then wouldn’t that be contentment?

The Christmas Conundrum: Rewriting the Family in “Written on the Body”

     For a brief period in the text, Louise and the narrator of Written on the Body share a quaint and domestic life together. With Elgin out of the picture, the two lovers can fully enjoy each other’s company and embrace the positive aspects of stable, affectionate monogamy. Notably, this domestic reprieve occurs during the Christmas season. Louise and the narrator, along with the rest of the world, get caught up in the holiday spirit. They cannot help but decorate their “flat with garlands of holly and ivy woven from the woods” (Winterson 99). Though they have “very little money,” they still find peace and cheer in “the season of goodwill” (99-100). Sadly for the two lovers, though, this fragile joy comes crashing down around them. By setting all scenes of domesticity at Christmastime, Winterson emphasizes the ubiquity of hegemonic ideals of domestic happiness.

     As Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick points out in Tendencies, Christmas marks a “time when all the institutions are speaking with one voice” (5). As all institutions repeatedly promote the monolith of Christmas, an increasing connection emerges between Christmastime and “the image of ‘the’ family” (6). Of course, Louise and the narrator do not conform to any traditional concept of what “the family” looks or acts like; their relationship begins with an affair, they do not share children, and they may both be women. Still, they enjoy the holiday season just like any other family. “We sang and played and walked for miles looking at buildings and watching people,” says the narrator (99). The couple’s singing calls to mind Christmas carols, while their playing evokes a childlike joy. Perhaps they also admire Christmas lights while taking their milelong walks. They even learn the quintessential lesson of Christmas: the importance of family. “A treasure had fallen into our hands,” says the narrator, “and the treasure was each other” (99). The statement is overly schlocky, romantic, and sentimental, especially for such a cynical narrator. In other words, the statement embodies all the cardinal aspects of Christmastime.

     Despite their poverty and unconventionality, Louise and the narrator remain “insultingly happy” (99). Their happiness does not just insult Elgin or Jacqueline. Rather, it insults the established order. The couple demonstrates that one does not have to adhere to conventional expectations in order to find fulfillment. However, their rebellion comes at a cost. Elgin arrives on “Christmas Eve” to inform the narrator that Louise has leukemia (100). He undercuts the couple’s happiness the night before the glorious day, the symbolic culmination of their joy. In a season characterized by brilliant lights and twinkling stars, Elgin casts “a shadow” over their contrived domesticity (100). His cruelty reveals that even the most “jovial” of seasons can have a “menacing” underbelly if you do not conform to societal expectations (100). The two lovers will never fit in, no matter how many garlands they string. Winterson illustrates that individual acts of resistance against hegemony only ever end in tragedy or martyrdom. To effect real change, the entire system must be discarded like the carcass of a Christmas turkey.

Good Dog/Feral Dog (Written on the Body)

“I phoned a friend whose advice was to play the sailor and run a wife in every port. If I told Jacqueline I’d ruin everything and for what? If I told Jacqueline I’d hurt her beyond healing and did I have that right? Probably I had nothing more than dog-fever for two weeks and I could get it out of my system and come home to my kennel. 

Good sense. Common sense. Good dog.”  

Written on the Body, pg. 40 

On the surface, this passage is a segment of the narrator’s deliberation. They consider the cons of telling Jacqueline the truth about their affair. On a deeper level, this passage reveals how the narrator views themself; it also carries notes of societal normativity.  

The syntax of this passage holds contrast: it begins with long, unbroken sentences, questioning in tone. This is the narrator’s pure stream of consciousness. It then transitions into clipped part-sentences which shut down the narrator’s earlier ruminations. After all, there is no need to worry about the ethical implications of being honest with Jacqueline if they ‘get it out of their system’ and move on (40).  

The narrator says that they have “dog-fever” and need to return home to a “kennel,” which conjures imagery of a crate or cage that might be too small for the dog (40). Something constraining. This is not the last time the narrator refers to themself in dog-like terms. On page 56, the narrator explicitly thinks, “I want to snarl like the dog I am,” and on page 91 they are “dog-dumb.” Interesting, then, that the narrator draws comparisons between themself and a cat later in the book, stating that they take it in “the way Louise had taken me” and then referring to themself and the cat in tandem (109). Whether cat or dog, the narrator thinks of themself in terms of a household pet. Feral and dangerous, protective, mistreated, loyal—all at once.  

This metaphor is a building block of a broader theme: rejecting normativity and hegemony. The narrator lives in a society which values faithful, heterosexual marriage, and the narrator adopts this obsession, questioning how one can be happy in such a system. The movement from “good sense” to “common sense” to “good dog” shows that the three are interconnected. Common sense, which is made up of common norms and beliefs, equates to good beliefs. Morality is tangibly attached to these practices. If the narrator adopts these beliefs and stops their affair, they will be a good dog, trained by society to be a docile household pet.  

Thus, the narrator’s struggle with norms and their internal debate is influenced by how they perceive themself. The choices are 1) ‘playing the sailor,’ being honest with Jacqueline, and ‘ruining everything,’ versus 2) moving through the affair and then conforming. Readers know that the narrator is honest and chooses not to play it safe. This is a decision followed by violence from both the narrator and Jacqueline, which is quite telling. Although the narrator is a contradictory character, they repeatedly grapple with their own dark side (akin to an angry dog) and whether they are worth saving (akin to a stray cat).  

the Piranesi nightmare

“Reason. I was caught in a Piranesi nightmare. The logical paths the proper steps led nowhere. My mind took me up tortuous staircases that opened into doors that opened into nothing.” (p.92)

The following text passage stroke me as very interesting when I read it, especially the mention of the “Piranesi nightmare”. There is a novel called Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, published in 2020, that I read last summer. It is set in a parallel world that is one endless house with an infinite number of staircases, halls and big rooms full of statues. The novel deals with various topics, among them being lost and finding oneself. After finishing the novel I did some research on Piranesi and found out that the novel was referring to the Italian Artist G. B. Piranesi, who, among other things, has produced a series with 16 prints called “Imaginary Prisons” in the 18th Century. It is also interesting, that WOTB is a lot older than Clarke’s novel Piranesi, which raises the question how Piranesi might shape newer interpretations of the mention of “Piranesi nightmare” in WOTB.

I see a reoccurring pattern in my chosen quote from WOTB, parts that can be grouped together, namely “Piranesi nightmare”, “steps leading nowhere” and “tortuous staircases opening into doors into nothing’”. All these parts have parallels to the novel Piranesi, where Piranesi, the main protagonist lives in this endless house with infinite rooms and staircases, leading to more rooms, but ultimately to “nothing”. They also resemble a labyrinth, a term that can also be associated with the artist Piranesi. The narrator feels lost in his own mind. This can also be connected to the very first word of the paragraph, “Reason”. It is interesting that the first sentence of the paragraph is just one word. Reason is a powerful word and can both mean an individual reason to do something as well as a greater, more general meaning and question of reason, almost philosophical as in “why do we do things in the way that we do them and why do we decide what we decide”.

What I am really trying to say here is that I think these lines are showing us how overthinking and analyzing can make us feel lost because we try to find a logical explanation for everything, when in reality, not every question has an answer. Reason gives us seemingly comfort, but actually it’s a nightmare, desperately trying to find an explanation for everything, thinking in complicated ways to make sense into things that aren’t supposed to make sense, just to frustratingly end up in “nothing” at the end. If we free ourselves from the urge to bring sense into everything, we free ourselves from this nightmare of a labyrinth, and thereby bring sense into it. The sense is that not everything can be explained with sense. Maybe the nameless narrator of WOTB also feel imprisoned by reason and his own mind.

This pattern of urge toward reason or explanation can also be seen in other parts of the novel, for example is the narrator trying to fight Louise’s cancer with reason, learning as much as they can about it. In the end though, cancer still does not completely make sense, since there often is no logical explanation as to when and why it develops in the body.

Narrator and trust

“To borrow against the trust someone has placed in you costs nothing at first. You get away with it, you take a little more and a little more until there is no more to draw on. Oddly, your hands should be full with all that you are taking, but when you open them up there’s nothing there.” (pg 77)

At this moment in the novel, the narrator is reflecting on their experiences with cheating on their partners. I thought that this section reflected on their attitude regarding sleeping with married women, and them trying to rationalize their actions. The first part of the quote shows that the initial break of trust does not cost them anything. This then leads from going to a one time mistake, to a full blown affair. I think that the second part where the author says “you open them up and there’s nothing there” reflects the little remorse that they are actually feeling. In the case of Louise, they are so caught up in their obsession with her that they barely even notice the trust they are taking from Jacqueline. 

  I think that the narrator repeats “more” and “take” showing that they think that they are holding the power in their situation. They can take their fidelity from their partner and they still believe that they have the upper hand. I also found it interesting that with many other parts of the novel, the metaphor that was used was related to the body, using hands as the method of taking. This shows the  

I connected this to the narrator’s feelings on marriage. In a similar passage they say that “no one can legislate love” (pg 77) and “marriage is the flimsiest weapon against desire.” I think they are passionate about their distaste for marriage as a way to justify their affairs. This also connects to the novel as whole with the theme of trust. Although they believed they were doing the right thing when they left Louise with Elgin, they broke her trust. They continue to see themselves in a position of power, deciding how and when the relationship ends. They believed that they were morally correct in this situation, despite taking the same that they took from Jaquiline in the beginning of their affair, her trust. 

 

The Difference Between Loving and Becoming

“You are still the colour of my blood. You are my blood. When I look in the mirror it’s not my own face I see. Your body is twice. Once you once me. Can I be sure which is which?” (99)

The protagonist in Written on the Body loses themselves to their obsession with becoming Louise, not loving her. Winterson warns about the dangers of perception — how our own perceptions and views of a situation can cause us to ignore the desires of others. Five months into their relationship, the narrator has adopted the essence of Louise, both her personality and physical being. Through their ruminations on past lovers, one can notice that the protagonist picks up traits and copies the actions of their current lover. For example, they imitate their terrorist girlfriend, Inge, or try to emulate Jacqueline’s stability and want for a “normal” relationship. The narrator has always tried to match their partner, whether that’s to seem more appealing or simply because of their own lack of an individual personality, but never to the same level as they have with Louise. 

Here, the protagonist blurs the line between “you” and “me,” making “your blood/body” their own. Through the symbol of a mirror, the narrator sees themselves as a reflection or copy of Louise, literally seeing her face in the mirror. The narrator has no physical manifestation of who they are, and this is heightened by the lack of an assigned name and gender. The narrator instead is meant to reflect the experiences and personality of others, whether that is the reader who projects onto them or the other characters in the story whose personality they adopt. Mirrors are often used to represent the true self, which the narrator sees as Louise. By saying “once you once me,” the narrator implies that what once was Louise’s — namely her face, body, and personality — is now theirs, so much so that you can no longer differentiate them from one another. 

There’s this common theme throughout the novel that “it’s the cliches that cause the trouble.” The trope of two lovers becoming so intimate and in tune with one another that they become one soul is common, however this is perverted by the narrator, who wants to become Louise instead of “combining” with her. Louise is a very passive figure in the novel, who’s fate and control over her own body is decided by Elgin and the narrator. Both believe they have a claim to her body, and that their ideas and wishes are the same as hers. Namely, the narrator thinks their decision to leave aligns with Louise’s, because they think they are Louise. The narrator ignores Louise’s real wishes and her distrust of Elgin, instead deciding the fate of the body, their body, on their own. This “one mind, one body” mindset ignores Louise’s individuality, making her a passive owner of her own body. 

Interestingly enough, the narrator sees themself as the worst part of Louise, a part that is hurting and killing her by staying in the relationship. So, by cutting themselves out of Louise, like a tumor, they can “save her” from her cancer. However, just like a body part that has been amputated or removed, the narrator can barely survive on their own, doomed to wander aimlessly without the rest of it. This trope of a soulmate, or someone who is not whole without their lover, reappears here, with the narrator not being whole without the rest of their body and soul. The narrator’s worrying obsession and reliance on Louise as a source for life, literally their blood and body, points out the unhealthy dynamic in this relationship. The narrator doesn’t seem to love Louise for who she is, the strong woman who will do anything to leave her husband, but as a body, a thing, that can be used and abandoned. This warped perception of their body and the relationship only causes pain for both of them, and serves as a warning to the projecting reader. 

Jacqueline and ‘Normal’

“I wanted the clichés, the armchair. I wanted the broad road and twenty-twenty vision. What’s wrong with that? It’s called growing up. Maybe most people gloss their comforts with a patina of romance but it soon wears off. They’re in it for the long haul; the expanding waistline and the little semi in the suburbs. What’s wrong with that? Late-night TV and snoring side by side into the millennium. Till death us do part. Anniversary darling? What’s wrong with that?” (Winterson, 26)

This passage comes at a point in Winterson’s text where the narrator has just met Jacqueline and is trying to decide whether a relationship with her is what she wants and/or needs. Jacqueline is different from anyone the narrator has previously been with: “She worked nine to five Monday to Friday, drove a Mini and got her reading from book clubs. She exhibited no fetishes, foibles, freak-outs or fuck-ups. Above all she was single and she had always been single. No children and no husband” (26). Jacqueline is strikingly normal and mundane, and as the narrator considers their past relationships, they find themself wanting to test the waters of normalcy. They are thinking in circles, considering what they want, what they need, what they should want, and how being with Jacqueline will be different. Deep down, however, they know a relationship with her will never be fulfilling. The repeated question “what’s wrong with that?” clues the reader in to the narrator’s anxieties around long-term commitment and their fear of an unsatisfying relationship, and shows that they are questioning whether they can really be happy with Jacqueline. The narrator seems to be trying to convince themselves that “growing up” and settling into a comfortable, clichéd relationship isn’t actually that bad; however, the way they imagine that relationship reveals a different story, as they describe a loss of romance, growing old with their partner, and having nothing more exciting than late-night TV and anniversaries to look forward to. The relationship becomes stagnant, unchanging, and boring. “What’s wrong with that?” the narrator asks themself. Nothing, except that a stagnant, boring relationship is at odds with what they really want. 

When considering this passage alongside ideas of ‘normal’ and ‘queerness’ as imagined by Warner and Rubin, it becomes apparent that the narrator is trying to reconcile their queerness with the desire to conform to given norms. Though the narrator’s gender and sexuality are never revealed, they fit into several categories in the “outer limits” or “bad/abnormal/unnatural” section of Rubin’s sexual hierarchy. They are unmarried, promiscuous, and their sex life is focused on pleasure rather than procreation; regardless of their gender, they have had relationships with both men and women, and thus can also fit into the category of homosexuality. Jaqueline, on the other hand, seems to fall into more of the “good/normal/natural” categories, though not entirely. Her sexuality is rather complex, as she is introduced as “the mistress of one of [the narrator’s friends] the confidante of both… She traded sex and sympathy for £50 to tide her over the weekend and a square meal on Sunday” (25). She therefore fits the “commercial” and (potentially) “sadomasochistic” categories in Rubin’s sexual hierarchy. Yet the narrator believes a relationship with her will be calm, clichéd, and normal, to the point of boredom. There is no passion between the two of them, and once together, their sex life becomes stagnant (28); it doesn’t seem too much to assume, considering the boredom and lack of romance, that it is private and vanilla as well. The narrator wants to try this calm, mundane kind of relationship with Jacqueline, seeing it and her as a welcome respite from the affairs they have had in the past. The problem is, the narrator is lying to themself on some level. They insist that they want “the clichés, the armchair,” when in reality, they will eventually become bored and frustrated with Jacqueline and her mundanity and leave her, choosing Louise and queerness over Jacqueline and normalcy.

The laws of love

“Two hundred miles from the surface of the earth, there is no gravity. The laws of motion are suspended. You could turn somersaults slowly slowly, weight into weightlessness, nowhere to fall… You will break up bone by bone, fractured from who you are, you are drifting away now, the centre cannot hold” (100).

This passage from Written on the Body speaks volumes. The repetition of words related to science, physics, space, and motion (such as earth, gravity, laws of motion, weight, bone, etc.) is critical to understanding this moment in the novel. The laws of motion are considered by most to be absolute, unchangeable and fixed. However, just 200 miles from where we all stand on Earth, everything we think we know about physics is wrong. We are rooted to the earth through gravity, but in a moment, we can be lifted from normalcy and brought into weightlessness with nowhere to fall.

Much like a scientific fact, the narrator thought they knew everything about Louise and everything about their life together. Yet, because of just one sentence, everything crumbled to pieces. Not only was their life with Louise shattered, but even the narrator themself was “fractured from who [they] were, drifting away now” (100). When something as easily accepted and important as gravity, or in this case, true love, breaks, who you are breaks with it.

As another student mentioned in class, “the centre cannot hold” comes from a Yeats poem titled “The Second Coming”. In my opinion, both the poem and the novel’s passage refer to absolute chaos erupting from the seams of the world. Louise was the narrator’s world and imagining a life without her was like imagining life without the laws of motion- impossible.

“She smells of the sea”: Sexuality and the Senses

“She smells of the sea. She smells of rockpools when I was a child. She keeps starfish in there. I crouch down to taste the salt, to run my fingers around the rim. She opens and shuts like a sea anemone. She’s refilled each day with fresh tides of longing.” (73)

The connection to the ocean is significant. Sexuality as fluid. Sexuality as connection—that is, as taste and smell over sight. There is no separation by viewing, no watcher and watched to create an object out of a person. Taste and smell are visceral and they bring the narrator and Louise together. There is no distance between partners.

This happens in conjunction with the curious language of exploration, i.e. “rockpools when I was a child” and “to run my fingers around the rim.” Here, in this passage, the narrator comes to know Louise’s body. He or she explores through sex, and there is a certain child-like quality to this, this tendency towards play and taste and smell.

What I’m really trying to say here is that maybe people grow out of equal connection. Maybe the tendency to produce a viewer and a viewed object during sex is a learned one. Maybe we grow into this distance as we learn to prioritize one sense over the others. This passage connects taste and smell and touch to a time of innocence, of ignorance. Not willful ignorance, but the kind of ignorance that can and must be remedied through exploration.

The narrator is exploring and thereby learning about Louise’s body in this passage, and through this, he or she comes to know Louise.